


Oathbreaker, Oathkeeper

by silver_eagle



Series: Songs of the Dragons [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Help, Will add more characters later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-01-14 22:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18486001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_eagle/pseuds/silver_eagle
Summary: Jaime Lannister sends many lives down a new path the moment he chose to break his Kingsguard oaths in a different manner: by leaving King Aerys to his fate during the Sack of King's Landing, having decided that saving Princess Elia and her children come first.House Targaryen survives, the game begins, and soon the song of ice and fire will play its first note.





	1. Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime makes a choice that changes his life forever.

 

It's dark and cold. Mostly dark. Ser Jaime Lannister thinks the cold he feels is mostly a product of fear. He stalks through the halls of the Red Keep, steadfastly ignoring the whispers of the panicked servants and the desperate guards that still remained relatively royal to their king. If the letter that Maester Pycelle handed him was true, his father would attack at dawn. He only has a handful of hours left, and he hopes that it would be enough.

He hurries along the Maidenvault, where Princess Elia and her children are being kept. The King claimed that it is for their own safety, but Jaime and everyone else in the keep know that they are little more than hostages. The young knight's heart hammers in his chest. His plan would incur his father's ire, he knows. Tywin Lannister iss a ruthless and unforgiving man, and Jaime is aware that he would be more than willing to harm the more innocent Targaryens.

It won’t happen. Not on Jaime’s watch.

He couldn’t care less about what happened to King Aerys, oaths be damned. The man was mad and there was nothing anyone can do about it. He had to be put down, but that wasn’t the Kingsguard’s job. Jaime would let his father take the glory. He’d rather go and do the right thing - protect the innocent, and fling a light into the future. He will fulfill his oaths not in the way people would expect of him, but he will do so nevertheless.

Princess Elia’s room is unguarded tonight. News of the approaching army has already spread, and everyone who can fight is already preparing for their final defense. It’s a lost cause, he knows, but he knows that their pride and honor demanded a last, valiant stand. But not Jaime. His own pride and honor gave him a more difficult task.

He raises his hand and knocks. “Princess.”

“Ser Jaime!” The voice behind the door trembled. “Do come in.”

Jaime steels himself before slipping into the room, locking the door behind him just in case. His thoughts wander to Varys briefly, and he wonders if the damned eunuch’s little birds are somehow listening in on them right now. He wills the thought away and focuses his attention on the room.

Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon are both sleeping. The little princess’ hand is sprawled protectively over her little brother’s body. They both look so peaceful that it makes Jaime feel regret over the possibility of disrupting this peace tonight. He quickly dispels the thought. He will do everything to keep them alive.

“What brings you here at such an hour?”

His attention turns to Princess Elia. It seems like he’s not the only one who’s having a sleepless night. She’s wearing a yellow robe over her orange nightgown - the colors of House Martell. There are shadows under her dark eyes, accentuating her think, haggard face. How long has it been since her olive skin gained that pallid undertone?

Again, he wrenches his thoughts away from the sad turn that they’re taking. “Wake the children. We have to go within the hour.”

“Go?” Elia blinks as realization dawns upon her. “Is the king dead? Are we expecting an attack? What about Lyanna? We have to help her too.”

“My father’s forces are not far from here, my lady. They will attack at sunrise. Let’s discuss Lady Stark later, when it’s safe.”

“Sunrise…” She nods. Determined. She turns to her children to wake them gently, whispering to them as they slowly stirred.

Jaime watches. He fights back the impatience that urges him to snap at the princess and her children for taking too long. He reminded himself that they still had plenty of time.

“Mama,” Rhaenys groans as she sits up and rubs the sleep off her eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“We have to leave, sweetling. It’s not safe here anymore.” Elia picks the child up and turns to Jaime. “Can you carry her?”

“Seems like I have no choice in that, do I?” The young knight sighs but nevertheless takes the grumbling child in his arms. He smiles as Rhaenys latches onto him. “We’re going on a long trip, Princess. You’ll have time to sleep there.”

Elia doesn’t take Aegon yet. She takes a silken satchel from under the bed and heads to her desk. She opens the drawer and takes out three things: a scroll, a box, and a book. She places them in the satchel before securing the strap over her shoulders. She grabs the lit lamp from her desk and takes the still-yawning Aegon in her free arm and nods to Jaime. It’s time.

He shifts so that he’s holding the drowsy Rhaenys with one arm. His free hand rests on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw it should they encounter danger. He’s not a religious man, but now he finds himself praying to the Seven that they make it out of the keep alive.

They only pass by a few servants who were quickly silenced by his glare and Elia’s businesslike nod. They encounter no one else in the Maidenvault. Jaime leads the princess and her children to a secret passage - the only one that Jaime knows of. He had spent weeks familiarizing himself with it, preparing to flee in case the situation turned dire, and the impending attack definitely counts as a dire situation in the knight’s humble opinion.

Aegon begins to sniffle as they rush past a particularly cold and damp passageway, but his mother quickly shushes him with a soft whisper. They’re deep within the walls where no one might hear them, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Jaime doesn’t relax - not even when they make it to Blackwater Bay. All of the docked ships had fled, leaving only one. It’s nothing exceptional - just a small, unnamed supply ship ferrying goods from the Reach.

Lannister money still does wonders in these troubled times.

The Captain - a tall, balding man named Thom - guides them up the ship. He never leers at  Elia nor makes any comment on the children. No, he’s too afraid of Jaime’s sword and eager for more gold.

“We’ve discussed this before,” he grumbles instead. “I’ll be providing you with one room. You are to stay in that room throughout the voyage. I’ll have someone deliver your meals. I can’t risk you going on deck. People might see, and people talk, talk, talk.”

“And where will you be taking us?” Elia’s voice comes out a little sharp.

Jaime knows that the question was directed to him as much as it was to Thom. “To Starfall. I’ve sent a raven to Lady Ashara. We can contact Queen Rhaella from there.”

“Ashara. Poor girl.” Elia’s defiant look is replaced by relief and sadness. “Very well, then. Kindly show us to our chambers, Captain.”

* * *

The nameless ship is well on its way to Dorne when the sun begins to rise. The children have settled down on their mother’s cot. Jaime occupied the other bed, out of his armor and clad only in a plain white tunic and breeches. The night has been tiring.

“I shall be sleeping now, if you don’t mind.”

“No. We must talk before we rest.” Elia stands by the small circular window, watching the now-smoking capital grow ever smaller. “I have one more thing to ask of you once we reach Starfall.”

The knight raises a golden brow. “If this involves leaving you and the children alone, then I shall refuse. My duty is to my king, and it shall be Aegon before this day ends.”

“Aegon cannot be the king.” Elia’s words sound final. “We will talk of it once we find Lyanna.”

_ Aegon cannot be king. _ A horrifying thought crossed Jaime’s mind but he wills himself not to think of it. Not yet. He will have to wait for the princess to clarify. “Then what would you have me do?”

“The Tower of Joy is not a place fit for childbirth. Lyanna has to be taken somewhere safe. Starfall, if possible. Talk some sense into your brothers. Arthur and the others surely will listen to you.”

That’s a tall order, even for someone so confident and daring as Jaime. “And if they don’t?”

“Make them.” Elia’s dark eyes glint with steel so rarely seen in these hard times. “This is not just about her child. She’s my friend, and I would like nothing better than to see her safe.”

“Very well. If that pleases you, Princess Elia.”

So many things could go wrong between here and Starfall. Even more things can go wrong between Starfall and the Tower of Joy. However, Ser Jaime Lannister is too tired from this night’s events. He’ll have more time to argue tomorrow. For now, he shall sleep.

* * *

_ Jaime slept fitfully that night. He dreams of things yet to come, and things that have passed. _

_ A brown dragon flies through the air in a weak, jerky manner. It soars over a vast stretch of grasslands in search of prey until it finds a lioness by a stream. The lioness looks up at the soaring dragon. It tilts its head curiously, but does not move. Here stands a potential prey. The dragon descends as it bares its teeth. The lioness begins to run in earnest but the dragon is stronger and faster. It grabs her by its claws. A loud roar fills the air as a lion - the lioness’ mate, perhaps - attacks the dragon, making drop the lioness in surprise and flee. The lioness bleeds on the ground, and from its blood spring forth two small dragons. The first to rise is smaller and more graceful, its eyes glinting with malice. The second that rises is bigger and stronger, determination clear in its steady gaze. _

_ The dream shifts and changes. The brown dragon returns. It looks sickly and weak, its movements erratic and twitchy. It writhes around the sun, snapping and roaring at it. Feeble wings flap around in agitation. The flames of the sun flicker under the attack, dimming slowly as the dragon begins to cackle madly. It soars straight into the fire and comes out on the other side with some of its scales falling off, revealing patches of rotting flesh. It flies off, leaving the sun in silence. The sun flickers, dimming momentarily, before it flares back into life with an eruption. A smaller dragon emerges from the flames, brighter and more glorious than the sun’s sickly assailant. _

_ Again, the dream changed. _

_ Now he saw a white wolf with thick fur as white as snow, its eyes red like the rubies on Rhaegar’s armor. Beside it stands its coal-black sibling with eyes as blue as Lyanna’s favored sapphires and winter roses. They stand at the edge of a frozen cliff and howl at the starless night sky. The sky replies in kind in the form of a roaring wind that flings the wolves over the edge. They plunge down the mountains before they suddenly burst into flames, transforming into fearsome dragons of crimson and azure. _

_ Again, the dream changes. An old and grizzled lion lounges on the Iron Throne. Shrewd green eyes watch the empty room. Snow and ashes fall from the broken stained-glass window overhead as the lion begins to to crumble like stone. A silver dragon takes its place, its long, serpentine tail twitching erratically. _

_ The dream changes once more. This time shows Sept of Baelor, where the stone statues of the Seven loom. They watch with blank, judging eyes that begin to weep blood as they turn into weirwood trees with despairing faces carved upon their death-white trunks. The leaves rustle and sway, the sound almost like voices whispering unknown secrets. They burst into flames that are quickly smothered by ice. _

_ An army clad in white and blue marches upon the Wall, armed with swords and spears of ice. The earth rumbles as a creature born of frost and death rises from a crack in the ground. The Wall trembles and erupts into a heap of blue petals. _

_ The scene changes for the last time. Now it’s just Jaime himself, standing in the middle of a snow-covered grove. A with an eyepatch stands before him. His hair is white - or is that silver? - and his single, uncovered eye is a bright crimson. He smiles at Jaime. _

_ “Your choice has set things in motion. Things you cannot stop. Soon, the song of ice and fire shall play its tune.” _

_ He erupts in a flock of ravens that swarm Jaime. Black feathers smother him before the birds give way to darkness and a dreamless sleep. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my first ASOIAF fic, and it's just the first part of what I plan to turn into a long-ish series. It's going to be a mix of the books and the series (fuck D&D!), with some original characters thrown into the mix. I'm not a really good writer and English is just my third language, so please be kind to me!
> 
> If you have any questions, do throw them into the comments! I'll try to answer as much as I could without spoiling things.


	2. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have escaped King's Landing, but their plans go awry once they reach Dorne.

_Aegon cannot be king._

The thought hangs over Jaime once he rises to break his fast - and eat his lunch. It’s noon already, and the harsh sunlight was already filtering through the small round window that overlooks the glassy water. Princess Rhaenys is still sprawled on her mother’s bed, snoring softly. Elia sits at the edge with her back turned to the knight. She holds Aegon close as he suckles on her breast.

Jaime has to strain his ears to hear it, but he’s sure that the princess is sobbing. He briefly pauses to decide whether he should approach her. His better nature won out for the second time in two days and he soon found himself scooting over to sit beside Elia. He keeps his eyes well away from the woman and her exposed breasts. Hopefully he’s not intruding too much.

“What’s the matter?”

Elia sniffs. The sound is as soft as her weeping. “Forgive me, Ser Jaime. I didn’t mean for you to hear.”

“But I did.” Jaime keeps his eyes on the wooden wall. “I can listen, if you wish to talk about whatever it is that troubles you.”

Silence reigns for a while, broken only by the last of Elia’s sobs. She eventually musters herself as her son shifts restlessly in her arms. “Promise me that you won’t tell anyone. Not without my permission.”

Jaime nods. He’s sworn more oaths than he can remember, and the only one he has broken is the one he made to Aerys himself. That man deserved it, anyway. This woman beside him is another matter altogether. “Then I won’t tell anyone.”

“Promise me, Jaime.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Elia huffs. She pauses again to gather her thoughts. “This war would not have happened if I did not act like a selfish fool. I told Rhaegar - I told him to look for a new wife, because I did not wish to bear another child after my difficulty with Rhaenys, the need for an heir be _damned_. I loved the realm, Ser Jaime. I loved it too much and knew that without a proper heir, chaos may as well descend again. The kingdom will not accept a queen - not after the Dance of Dragons - which would cause problems for my little Rhaenys and Prince Viserys is already showing signs of madness. Queen Rhaella is pregnant again, yes, but we cannot be assured of the babe’s survival, let alone its gender.”

Jamie mulls over the princess’ words for a moment. It’s the first time he’s heard her use crude language, and he respects her all the more for it. “Was that the reason why Rhaegar ran away with Lyanna? And he didn’t know that he still put a child in you before he left?”

Her smile is tight and sad. “Yes. Rhaegar courted - yes, courted - Lyanna and eloped with her. He was very much besotted with her as much as she was with him. And I was left in Dragonstone with Rhaenys. He wasn’t gone for long when King Aerys and Queen Rhaella visited us. It was Rhaella’s idea and she had convinced her husband to visit me during one of his more, ah, lucid days. She wanted to know where my husband went. I trusted Rhaella and told her the truth. She was, after all, the one who told me that a Targaryen is still legally allowed to take more than one bride, despite their ancestors’ conscious decision to stop the practice. She didn’t take it well, but she was kind enough to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Jaime wonders if his head is going to spin from everything he’s learning. “We all know Septon Maynard officiated their wedding but…” He exhales sharply.

“Yes. I was the one who suggested it all.” Elia falls quiet again. Tears stream down her cheeks despite her attempt to keep her composure. “I knew he had his eyes on Lyanna during the Tourney at Harrenhal. I talked to Lyanna herself and told her about it, but warned her about the risks. I asked her to consider the facts that House Targaryen has a reputation for madness and she’s betrothed to Robert Baratheon. Lyanna… she’s willful. Very much so. It’s easy to like her, but it would have been easier to despise her. But I could not.”

“You are too kind,” The young knight admits.

The ghost of a smile flickers on Elia’s lovely face, but it is quickly smothered by grief. She gently places her sleeping son on the bed, beside his sister. “King Aerys… went after me, that day he visited us with Queen Rhaella. He took me while Rhaenys was sleeping.”

 _Went after… taken…_ Jaime feels his entire body grow cold. He finds himself breathing heavily as he lifts his gaze to the princess, who is now clothed modestly once more. His body trembles from rage. “That monster,” he growls. “Aegon…”

“Is his,” she confirms sadly. “His true father is a monster, but he is my blood. I love him as much as I love Rhaenys.”

“Did Rhaegar know?”

“I talked to him when we reunited in King’s Landing. I was heavily pregnant by then, and he was about to ride off to the Trident. He promised that we shall discuss Aegon’s fate once he returned.” Elia clenches her fists. “He did not hate me, nor blame me. He was always a kind fool.”

“That he was.” The young knight cringes at his own irreverence. “Forgive me, Princess. That was reckless.”

His words, it seems, are enough to make Elia smile. “I appreciate your honesty. I have had my fill of simpering fools who whisper empty words to earn my favor.”

Jaime nods, grim once more. “Thank you for trusting me with… with this. The truth. I swear upon my sword that I will never speak a word of it to anyone.”

The princess’ smile doesn’t fade. Instead, it grows. “My father used to say that fortune smiles upon men who keep their word. It gladdens me to know that I still have a friend in these trying times.”

 _Ser Jaime Lannister, a friend?_ He breaks into a grin and bows. “I will do my best not to disappoint you, my good lady.”

* * *

The ship doesn’t make it to Starfall  unhindered. It doesn’t even make it to the coast of Sunspear when three slender but large Dornish ships surround it, with the red, orange, and gold of House Martell emblazoned upon their sails.

Jaime and Elia stand at their little ship’s deck as the newcomers approach, having been summoned as soon as the Dornish ships appeared. The princess holds her sleeping son in her arms, while Rhaenys clings to her mother’s orange skirt. The tension in the air is palpable as the distance between the for ships grow ever smaller.

Now they’re close for Jaime to see the faces of the men standing at the edge of the approaching vessels. Salty Dornishmen, all of them, armed and ready for a battle. Jaime finds himself casually reaching for his sword, though he knows that he won’t need it.

Not with Elia onboard.

The princess steps forward until she’s in plain sight of the ships, which are close enough to reach their own with planks. Her long, dark hair flows freely with the wind. She lifts her chin and surveys her surroundings with a proud, dignified air, perfectly playing the part of a princess.

“I am Princess Elia Martell, and I command you to let us pass.”

Her words are met with a ripple of hushed whispers. The Dornishmen gape at her even as they talk amongst themselves. It takes a few heartbeats before someone finally speaks to them directly.

“Princess Elia, we are most glad to see you alive and well.” The speaker is a man clad in enameled armor adorned burnished copper, and a thick, sandy-yellow cloak. He’s a salty Dornishman like the rest of them, his dark hair tied back in a smart ponytail. His beard is well-kept. Clearly, he isn’t among the forces that Dorne had deployed to quell the rebellion.

“Ser Manfrey.” Elia’s smile is carefully controlled but warm. “It is good to see you, _cousin_.”

“It seems like the reports of your death have been greatly… embellished.” Ser Manfrey nods to his men. It’s enough to make them relax. “It seems like you and your… companions… had a long journey. Come, with us to Sunspear. There is much to discuss, and I am sure Prince Doran will be pleased to hear of your survival.”

Elia glances at Jaime. “We can go with them,” she says in a low voice. “We can delay our journey for a day or two. I want to see Doran and besides, it seems like there’s dire news from King’s Landing.”

 _Reports of your death have been greatly embellished._ Jaime eases his stance. “As you wish, my lady.”

The princess turns back to Ser Manfrey. “Very well, then. Escort us to Sunspear. I believe my brother and I have much to talk about.”

Her word was enough, even for their own ship. They begin to veer south and west.

* * *

Jaime accompanies Elia and the children as they march to Sunspear, accompanied by an armed escort led by Ser Manfrey, who turns out to be a member of House Martell. He’s glad that he took time to don his armor. Though he knows that Doran would never harm his beloved sister and her family, others might not be so kind. Servants and palace guards alike watch their procession, bowing and murmuring reverently to Elia and her children. Very few of them spared a second glance at Jaime. He ignores them as much as they ignore him. He has to keep his focus on any sign of danger that might present itself.

Prince Doran Martell greets them in a beautiful throne room with marble floors and windows made of colored glass, his armored guard standing behind him. He sits upon a throne emblazoned with the image of a spear while an empty seat adorned with the image of the sun stands beside its near-twin. Today, he’s clad in loose silken robes made from different shades of dark silk. He looks tired, but he breaks into a smile at the sight of his sister and her children and rises to his feet, approaching them with dragging, pained steps.

“Welcome home, Elia. I thought I would never see you again.”

“Thank you, Doran.” Elia’s smile is tight and controlled. “It is good to see you too after everything that happened, but I am afraid I cannot stay for long. I must head on to Starfall. Rhaegar’s death does not free me from my duties.”

Doran’s dark eyes harden as he glares at his sister. “Rhaegar, who set you aside so casually-”

“Rhaegar, who set me aside upon my request.” Elia tilts her chin, defiant and proud. “We shall discuss this later, Doran. In private. For now, it is enough that I intend to make it to Starfall, and to the Tower of Joy. Lyanna Stark and her child need me.”

“No. I cannot let you.” Doran looms closer to her. He looks down upon his sister. “I command you as your Prince to stay in this castle until it is safe for you to leave.”

“You are the Prince of Dorne, but I am a princess of the Seven Kingdoms. My authority precedes yours, and I command you to listen. Ser Jaime Lannister here had smuggled me and my children out of King’s Landing, and I will not use my freedom to sit idly while people I _care about_ are in danger. We shall discuss Rhaegar and Lyanna _later_. Today, I need news and a night’s worth or proper sleep.” Elia pauses to huff angrily. Aegon shifts in her arms and sobs softly, prompting his mother to shush him. “Now look at what you’ve done. You’re upsetting my child.”

Doran opens his mouth, as if to argue, but shuts it promptly with an apologetic sigh.

Jaime steps forward, making the still furious prince cast his eyes on the young knight. “Princess Elia asked you for news, and we hope you can give us any scrap of it that you have. We have been out of touch from the rest of the world since we left King’s Landing for the past three weeks.”

“News?” Prince Doran strides back to his throne and sits carefully, a hand clutching his knee tightly. “King Aerys is dead. According to Tywin Lannister, so are Elia and her children.”

“Dead…” Jamie shakes his head quickly. Rhaegar tasked him with protecting his first wife and their children. He did what he was told.

“How could anyone believe we are dead?” Elia asks.

“A little over a fortnight ago, we received ravens detailing the Sack of King’s Landing. Aerys was killed by the Lannister forces. He was helpless, but I will shed no tear for that madman.” Doran turns his gaze from Jaime to Elia. “When Robert arrived to usurp the throne, Lord Tywin presented him with three bodies that were mangled beyond recognition, claiming to be you and the children, _murdered_ by the Mountain.”

“Bodies?” Rage creeps up the princess’ voice. She glances at Jaime briefly. “They must have killed innocents to cover up our escape.”

Jaime’s ears ring with rage. Lies. His father appeased the Usurper with lies. “Wouldn’t it serve Father better if he told Robert of our escape?” He wonders if Tywin did it to save his elder son’s skin. He feels no gratitude for the man.

“I do not understand it fully either.” Doran smiles. “But here you all are, alive and well. Dorne shall be forever grateful to you, Ser Jaime Lannister.”

“I did what I believed was the right thing. My duty. I am not asking for any boon.” Jaime was barely ten-and-seven, but he knows Rhaegar would be proud of his deeds.

“Nevertheless, we are in your debt.” Doran claps his hands to summon servants. “For now, you must rest and wash yourselves up. I shall have a feast prepared for tonight. There is much to be grateful for.”

Elia raises a brow. “And what about our discussion?”

“It shall have to wait until after the feast, when everyone is too full and tired to scheme.”

That is not enough to appease the princess. "That would reveal our survival to those who might not be supposed to know."

Doran smiles. "I have ways of making sure that no word of this meeting or the feast makes it out of Sunspear. You must trust me."

"Very well. But if I learn that our survival is discovered by our enemies..." She bares her teeth in a sweet but dangerous smile. "You will regret your folly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's me again! It's another quick chapter because I'm still having a stroke of inspiration. I can't promise regularly-scheduled updates, but I will keep writing and posting whenever time and inspiration permits.
> 
> I hope you guys aren't turned off by the exposition-heavy chapter. We'll be moving along soon.


	3. Voyager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to Starfall continues after the brief detour to Sunspear.

There is no feast like a Dornish feast. There’s music and dancing, and food spiced with peppers and herbs. Sweet Dornish red flows freely, the blood-colored wine enough to cloud even the clearest of minds.

Jamie leans back against his seat watching the festivities from his seat on House Martell’s table. He drinks sparingly, aware that something could go wrong at any moment. His eyes roam around, noting all the exits that they could use in case of an attack. It’s an old exercise that Ser Barristan made him do repeatedly until it became a habit.

Princess Rhaenys’ laughter rings throughout the room as she runs in circles with Doran’s own daughter, Arianne, who is of an age with her. Aegon slumbers in his mother’s arms while Elia is busy chattering happily with her brother.

Seeing Elia and Doran makes Jaime thinks of Cersei. He still remembers the feel of her golden hair and the sound of her self-assured laughter. It’s been a long time since they’ve last seen each other and he wonders how she’s doing now. He’s sure that their father would be selling her off to Robert as soon as he secures the throne.

He shudders and tries to think of other things.

His mind turns to Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys, stranded in Dragonstone. He wonders how they are faring. Maybe he can find a way to contact them once they’ve secured Lady Lyanna’s safety. It is his duty as a Kingsguard, he knows, but his priorities for the next few days - nay, maybe even the next few years - may lie elsewhere. Elia, Lyanna, and their children are members of the royal family too, and he knows he has to protect them too. Oh, how he wishes that he could split his body into two.

“How are you faring, Ser Lannister?” Princess Mellario of Norvos, Prince Doran’s wife and consort, leans toward him. “Are you liking your stay here in Dorne so far?”

“Everyone is most gracious, and I am appreciating both the food and wine,” Jaime notes.

He spoke true. He is no stranger to the best Dornish reds, and while the food was surprisingly too savory and spicy for him at first, he's finding it easier to appreciate all the myriad flavors that accompany every dish. Everyone in Sunspear had been polite and pleasant, clearly grateful for his service to House Martell and its scions. This made him swell with pride at first, but now all he feels is discomfort whenever someone reminds him of his _noble deeds_.

Jaime Lannister is no hero. He's just a knight who did what he believed was the right thing. He feels no regret, but he still wishes that they'd stop acting like he's some legend who's worthy of all the songs in the land. Any other man would have done the same thing in his place.

"Dorne is different from Norvos. Far too different." Mellario shifts in her seat, making her hair go off-kilter. It takes a moment for Jaime to realize that she's wearing a wig. "Sometimes, it feels so _unacceptable_ that I wonder why I even agreed to come here in the first place."

"If you don't mind me asking..." Jaime pauses for a moment, wondering if he's about to make an offensive statement. He looks around and lowers his voice to a hush, though everyone is too busy in their own little worlds to notice. "Why did you marry Prince Doran?"

Lady Mellario throws her head back and laughs. "Love makes you do foolish things, boy, but I wonder if it is enough to make you stay and see things through 'til the end."

The young knight nods along, allowing silence to take over as he mulls over her words. He knows she has a point - he loves his father, and Cersei, and Tyrion, but that love was not enough to stop him from doing his duty. A part of him wonders if he will regret this someday, once it's finally time for him to confront his family.

Those thoughts occupy his mind even as the feast ends, and everyone prepares to retire to their chambers.

"You have served us well this past few weeks, Ser Jaime," Elia tells him, a sleeping child in each arm. "Areo Hotah - my brother's guard - will keep us safe while we discuss... family matters."

Jaime scowls. They can't travel all the way to Sunspear just to put Elia and her children in danger at the first opportunity. "Is this wise, my lady?"

"Trust me on this. I want you well-rested and alert once we depart tomorrow."

The young knight watches the princess walk away with her brother and a trusted guard - Areo Hotah, if he is not mistaken. He wants to follow - he really does - but he thinks it would not be wise.

* * *

They leave at dawn. Jaime guides Princess Elia and her children back to their little ship, escorted by a sour-faced Prince Doran and a contingent of guards - some of them off to accompany the princess and her family.

“My brother is not pleased with the truth,” Elia whispers as soon they return to their cramped little cabin. “He was right. I was foolish. If I had let Rhaegar father a child instead despite my fears…”

“What’s done is done, my lady.” It’s something Jaime keeps telling himself whenever he’s in trouble for another of his _stupid_ decisions. “There’s nothing we can do about it. Best thing we can do is to mitigate the damage that we’ve already done.”

Elia nods and closes her eyes, as if steeling herself.  “We will restore House Targaryen to the throne.”

Jamie approves, though he knows that it is easier said than done. “Before that, we have to make sure every member is accounted for.”

Elia and her children. Lyanna and her unborn child. Queen Rhaella and Viserys. Gods, he doesn’t even know everything that has to be done. He feels like a child thrust into a new, unfamiliar world, his fumbling fingers grasping at everything he could reach in search of guidance.

“You are right.” The Princess’ voice jolts him out of his thoughts. “I may have made _terrible_ mistakes, but there is still hope.”

 _Hope._ It’s a big word, he knows, but maybe he has to believe in something.

* * *

“Tell me a story, Ser Jaime,” Rhaenys asks on the first night of their voyage. They had two more days left before they reached Starfall.

Elia ran a hand through her daughter’s soft hair. “What did I tell you about asking for things, Sweetling?”

“To say ‘please.’”

“And what should you do?”

The child turns back to the knight who’s busy oiling his sword and armor on the rickety wooden floor. “Tell me a story, Ser Jaime. Please?”

Jaime looks up and smiles. How can he resist those wide, dark eyes? For a fleeting, his mind strays to golden-haired children with green eyes as bright as his. He quickly snuffs the thought out. Men of the Kingsguard cannot sire children.

His head clears, and he turns back to Rhaenys. “Which story will it be, my little lady?”

“I want to hear about Aegon the Conqueror again.” Ignoring the heavy armor in his hands, the princess settles on his lap, imitating her mother’s dignified bearing.

“Of course.” Jaime sets the armor and oiled cloth aside, letting the child adjust herself on his lap. “Aegon Targaryen and his sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys…”

He spins story after story - Aegon’s Conquest, Orys Baratheon and Storm’s End, Torrhen Stark kneeling to his new king. The moon is already making its way up the starlit sky when the princess falls asleep, curled up against him. He takes her in his arms and rises, glancing at Elia who is preoccupied with reading a letter.

He places the child gently on the bed, startling her mother out of her reverie.

“Your stories must have tired her out.”

“I expected her to be bored when I listed all those _damn_ battles, but your daughter was most attentive and asked so many questions.”

“Mother used to say that Oberyn was like that too, when he was younger.” Elia carefully folds her letter and sets it aside, tucking it under her lumpy pillow. “Doran received a raven from his spies in King’s Landing last night. We had no time to discuss it, so he gave me a copy instead.”

Despite the princess’ relaxed posture, Jaime could feel himself tensing like a drawn bowstring. “Dire news?”

Elia’s face betrays nothing. She has been taught well. “It depends. Lord Eddard Stark left King’s Landing not long after we did, and he is on his way to the Tower of Joy as we speak. He wishes to rescue his sister.”

"Eddard Stark?" Jaime frowns. He's heard good things about this man, but he's still not sure if it bodes well for Lady Lyanna and her child. "I heard that he's honorable to a fault. Father used to call him a fool who would rather die an honorable man that live through dishonor."

A thoughtful look lights up Elia's face. "He can be reasoned with. That much I am sure."

"Maybe."

"It will be done. Believe me."

Jaime looks up and sees the steel in the princess' eyes. Despite the doubts that whisper at the back of his mind, he finds himself trusting her words. Elia will find a way to reason with the honorable Lord Stark

* * *

_Strange dreams consume him again that night._

_He’s back in the Red Keep, standing right in front of the empty Iron Throne. Blood dripped from the half-melted swords that formed the damned seat. The smell of ashes hung in the air, though no sign of fire could be seen. In fact, snow was falling gently from the broken window that used to hold an image of the seven-pointed star made of yellow-dyed glass. Jaime shuddered from the cold._

_A dragon lay curled up at the foot of the throne, its dull scales the color of pure gold. It opens bright green eyes - Lannister eyes - that gaze at him with anger. It rises to its feet and roars. Jaime does not flinch. Neither does he move from where he stands. He stares the dragon down, meeting its maddened, broken gaze. A scale falls off from its brow as it roared again. Still, it is not enough to make the young knight feel any signs of fear._

_“Who are you?” he asks. “Why are you here?”_

_Smoke wafts from its flared nostrils as its maddened eyes darken with blinding rage. It says nothing. Of course, a dragon cannot speak. But he had hoped._

_It lunges at him, claws poised to swipe. Foolish as it is, Jaime dodged and leapt to the creature’s back, wrapping his arms around its slender neck in an attempt to snap it._

_The smoke coming from the dragon thickens impossibly until it fills the room, suffocating him and sending him spiralling into darkness._

_He stands in the ruins of an empty village. No sign of life remains everywhere he looked. The broken-down windows and open doors gaped at him, offering him a glimpse of a dark abyss. He averts his gaze as a shudder creeps down his spine. This place reeks death._

_Snow and ashes fall over his head, mingling together, ice and fire intertwined._

_Three figures ride into the village, clad in similar fur-lined cloaks. All three of them are mounted on wolves. The stocky lad in the middle seems to be in charge. His trimmed, curly hair is a vivid auburn shade that compliments his bright blue eyes. His mount is an enormous gray wolf with bright amber eyes. The two that flanked him resemble each other enough to pass as siblings, if not twins, with their dark curls and long faces. The boy on the right has dark violet eyes that almost look gray. He rides atop a wolf as white as snow, its red eyes glimmering like embers. The girl on the left has eyes a lighter shade of violet tinted with silver. His wolf is coal-black with icy blue eyes._

_The auburn-haired boy smiles at the sight of Jaime and bows his head in solemn respect. “Hail, Queenslayer,” he murmurs._

Jaime wakes up with a breathless gasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've only got around two or three chapters left, then on to the sequel! I hope you guys have enjoyed it so far. Again, feel free to ask anything about this fic on the comment box! I'll try to answer everything without spoiling too much.


	4. Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Elia arrive in Starfall. Nothing much happens.

Elia opens up again one night, when the children are asleep. They’re only two days away from Starfall now. “He had madness in him too, you know. Rhaegar.”

Jaime sets down the sword he’s bent on polishing to perfection and inclines his head. “King Jaehaerys once said that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. That’s what Ser Barristan told me, at least.”

“You looked up to Rhaegar.”

“I did. He was the shining paragon of all that a knight should aspire to be. Or so I thought.”

A bitter laugh escapes the princess’ lips. “He had a touch of madness too. He was so obsessed with the prophecy of the prince that was promised. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, the talk of a song of ice and fire, and that the dragon must have three heads.”

Jaime’s smile never meets his eyes, but it is there nevertheless. He remembers the prince’s grand dreams, though he still understands none of it. “It’s all he would ever talk about.”

Elia’s dark eyes gaze at the window, and the sliver of inky sky dotted with silver stars. “He was unhappy when I told him I wanted no more children. He never hurt me - no, I don’t believe he had it in him, despite his madness - but he wept and pleaded. The dragon must have three heads.”

“What did you do?”

“I was firm in my decision. No amount of begging on his part could sway me, but now I regret my choice.” Her eyes flit to her sleeping son. “I still bore a child, did I not. It would have been better for the realm if he was truly Rhaegar’s, rather than that…”

A disgusted shudder follows her silence.

Jaime gathers his thoughts before he speaks. “It is for yourself that you made a choice for, Princess. Let no one, not even that _monster_ , take that away from you.”

“But was it the right choice?” Elia’s eyes flare in anger for a moment before sorrow douses her once more. “It started this… this damned war, Jaime, me and mad Rhaegar and gullible Lyanna. By the Seven, I placed a naive child into a madman’s hands.”

“I will say it as I have before.” Holding his ground, Jaime meets the princess’ gaze. “What is done is done. The best you can do is move forward. Fix your mistakes.”

Her sorrow melts into defeat. “It is easier said than done, Ser Jaime.”

“And yet it _can_ be done, can it not?”

And finally, her defeat is reforged into steely determination. “Yes.”

* * *

An entire contingent of men await them the night they arrive in Starfall, clad in the violet and silver of House Dayne.

Jaime has no time to admire the view. With the sound of the rushing Torrenting behind them, he follows their hosts into the gray-stoned castle adorned with banners that bear the sigil of House Dayne. No servants flit by - the late hour meant that most of them were home, or asleep. Jaime carries the sleeping Rhaenys in his arms, while Elia does the same for Aegon.

They are taken straight to Lady Ashara’s study. It’s empty for now. The lady’s solid wood desk is empty, save for a quill, a small golden bottle of ink, and scrolls stacked neatly on one side. The loaded shelves barely have enough space to fit more books. Gauzy purple curtains sway with the gentle mountain wind. The faint smell of perfume lingers in the air.

Lady Ashara does not make them wait for a long time. She emerges from another door hidden behind a shelf, dressed in a gown of shimmering blue silk. She’s as tall and beautiful as Jaime remembers, her dark hair hanging loose around her freckled, pale face - the hallmark of a stony Dornishwoman. Her haunting violet eyes gaze at the newcomers as the tiniest of smiles lights up her face. She rushes to embrace Elia.

“I had feared the worst,” she admits.

“Ser Jaime had been a most steadfast companion,” Elia murmurs as she gently breaks away from her friend’s arms. “And my brother had been helping.”

“As should be.” Ashara shoots Jaime a curious glance before turning back to the princess. “No one shall eavesdrop here.”

“I sent you a raven while I was in Sunspear.”

“It arrived two days ago. I have been preparing everything to the best of my abilities.” A proud look crosses Ashara’s pale features. “Maester Edwyle is preparing to leave with the next supply caravan. Wylla will accompanying him, and I shall nurse Allyria myself while she is away.”

Elia glances at Ashara’s flat belly and nods. “So the child survived. News said otherwise.”

Ashara’s smile falls. “It was Lady Floril who had birthed a stillborn child. She and Father _demanded_ to raise Allyria in her stead. I accepted for her sake. We’ve caused the Starks enough grief.”

“And they have caused us grief too,” Jaime says. He thinks of Rhaegar and Lyanna, and the bloodshed that followed them.

Elia sighs. “And so have I, but it is a matter for another day. I am glad that you have been taking care of matters, Lady Ashara. But tell me: how much does Arwyn know of this?”

“Enough. Arthur is guarding the tower, after all. He knows not of Lyanna’s condition yet, of course, but he will notice once Wylla is gone.”

“Can your brother still be trusted?”

“As long as it’s not something that will harm our House. He is loyal to House Dayne and Starfall, first and foremost.”

Elia falls quiet as her eyes roam the room. She must be thinking of her next move. “I have no time to spare for the great game, politics be _damned_. Ashara, can I entrust Rhaenys to you?”

“Princess, what are you planning?” Jaime might not be as bright as his twin, but he still has enough wits about him to figure out the answer to his question before Elia even spoke.

“I shall travel to the Tower of Joy to personally oversee Lyanna’s welfare. I am also hoping that my presence can prevent any potential conflict should the rumors about Eddard Stark’s movements be true.”

“What if he tries to hurt you? What if he brought an _army_?”

“I know for a fact that Ned is honorable. Far more honorable than Brandon, especially when his sister is involved. He can be reasoned with, Ser Jaime, and I want him on our side. I believe he can help us in the foreseeable future.”

“How sure are you that he simply wouldn’t take his sister with him and leave?”

For a moment, Elia’s composure slips. She bites her lip and glances at her sleeping children. “I’m not, but it doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

* * *

Ulrick Dayne, the aging Lord of Starfall named after a legendary ancestor, personally oversees the caravan as it prepares to leave in the morning. Tall and sturdily built, he must have been quite impressive in his youth. Now the toll of old age can be seen on the wrinkles on his face. His once-golden hair has faded into a graying white. His blue eyes hold a milky tinge. Still-sturdy hands hold on to an intricate yew cane as he watches the servants loading the carts.

To his right stands his son and heir, Arwyn. It’s easy to mistake him for his younger brother, Arthur. Like their father, both Dayne men were built tall and strong, with golden hair and sharp, angular features. While Arthur’s eyes were violet, though, Arwyn’s were a deep, rich blue.

Jaime joins the caravan only to find both father and son deep in conversation - or an argument - with Princess Elia.

“...bringing a child will be troublesome enough, but a _babe_?” Lord Ulrick was saying. “He will die within the day.”

“Aegon is blood of the dragon.” Elia tilts her chin as she hoists the slumbering child in her arms. Behind her, Rhaenys whimpers. “He has survived a voyage. He will survive a brief ride to the tower. And so shall Rhaenys.”

“The road is dangerous. Bandits and other villains will try to waylay you,” Arwyn argues. He catches Jaime’s eye and shoots him a pleading look.

Jaime shakes his head in exasperation. “The Princess cannot be argued with when it comes to her children. Believe me, I have tried many times.”

Elia inclines her head, a smirk blooming on her face. “I will not part with my children under _any_ circumstances. Not if I can help it.”

An appalled look crosses Arwyn’s face. “Your Grace, do you not trust us to care for your children while you are doing your duty? You know our loyalty is with House Martell and its scions.”

“I do not doubt your loyalty, Lord Arwyn, but I am a mother, and I _will not_ part with my children.”

Jaime sighs in boredom. “I told you. She cannot be argued with.”

“So it seems,” Lord Ulrick murmurs. He turns to Jaime, scrutinizing him with his cloudy gaze. “I have heard many things about you from the princess and my daughter, Ser Jaime. I hope we can sit down and talk _in detail_ once you finish your business in the Tower.”

Loyalties be damned, at least one Dayne still seems intent on playing the game in these turbulent times.

“If circumstances permit.” Jaime flashes a roguish smile and turns to Elia. “Shall we, my lady?”

Elia mirrors his smile and nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will confess that I've almost quit due to the hate this fic has been getting.
> 
> There's been a lot of support, and I really appreciate the kind words and even the constructive criticisms, but some comments have been harsher than expected. It's honestly taken the fun out of writing. From now on, while I am still open to advice, comments, and suggestions, I will be deliberately ignoring any comment that I don't feel is worth spending time and energy on anymore. If you also come across a fic, like this, that isn't your cup of tea, I suggest that you simply stop reading and spend your time elsewhere rather than engage the writer with unhelpful or outright hateful remarks. It will save you both the time and energy, and you'll be doing the writer's mental health and confidence a huge favor. Flames and fandom police aren't new, but let's be better people and be kinder to each other, yeah?


	5. Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tower of Joy is more than Jaime expected.

The last leg of their quest is the worst. While Jaime would always choose to travel on land rather than by sea - he doesn’t like the constant rocking, thank you very much - never had he ever dreamed that he would have to traverse the Prince’s Pass.

Traveling through Dorne is bad enough. Though he has had his fair share of summer days, none of them would ever prepare him for Dornish heat. Not even the lighter silks and headscarves provided by Prince Doran can keep him cool. It’s enough to make him envy Elia and her children, who are traveling in a dainty wheelhouse with the maester and the nursemaid

The wheelhouse and the loaded supply wagons are making the trip slower than expected. The road is sandy and bumpy, making Aegon cry whenever he is jostled. They’ve encountered bandits twice in just a week, leaving three of their meager guards dead in their wake.

It takes about two weeks before the tower comes into view - a tall, foreboding structure of plain gray stone. It is still half-finished, with wooden beams sticking out of the structures that lie at its foot.

“We will be there tonight,” Gawen, the leader of their guards, declares. He signals for his men to unfurl three banners - Targaryen, Martell, Dayne.

The dry heat begins to cool as night approaches. Lights begin to appear in the upper reaches of the tower - the only signs of life Jaime has seen so far. He wonders if everyone is doing well. This seems like a poor place for a pregnant woman to live in, especially when she's carrying the Crown Prince's heir.

An armed horseman bearing a torch approaches them - Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning, his golden hair glinting in the firelight. He draws his sword at the ready.

“The dragon has crowned the wolf,” he declares.

“They sing the song of ice and fire,” Gawen replies.

Ser Arthur relaxes and lowers his sword. “I was informed by my sister that you were to arrive here ahead of schedule because of some rather important guests.”

“Aye.” Jaime digs his heels against his dun steed - a most precious gift from House Dayne - and nudges it forward. “Greetings, Ser Arthur.”

Arthur’s face turns stony at the sight of him. “Ser Jaime. It seems like we have much to talk about. You abandoned your post, left the king and Rhaegar’s children die.”

Jaime glances at the wheelhouse in a deliberate move to draw his comrade’s gaze. “I did not come here  _ alone _ .”

“We  _ do  _ have much to talk about, then.”

Ser Arthur escorts them until they reach the foot of the tower. Here, they are joined by Ser Oswell himself. The knight from House Whent now has more silver peppering his muddy brown hair, but his stance is still strong, his dark eyes still sharp.

“Greetings, Ser Jaime.” Though the man has always been serious, there’s nothing amicable at all now in his voice. “Didn’t expect a deserter to show up here, of all places. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Only that I did not come here alone,” Jaime tells him with a smirk.

“I am with him.” Elia steps out of the wheelhouse, a giggling Aegon in hand, clearly exhausted from the journey but nevertheless sound of mind. She pauses to assist Rhaenys with her free hand before turning back to the men. “I have brought a maester and a wet nurse. How far along is  _ she _ ?”

“Eight moon turns,” Arthur supplies.

“Good. There is time. Take me to her.”   
“But princess-”

Elia’s eyes flash with steel. “Ser Oswell, accompany Wylla to her quarters. Ser Arthur, I wish to take Ser Jaime and Maester Edwyle with me to her quarters. _ Now. _ ”

The two men bow. No more complaints are made. Ser Oswell guides Wylla away from their party. The caravans march on to deliver their wares, while Jaime, Elia, the children, and Maester Edwyle are guided farther into the tower by the Sword of the Morning. A tense silence hangs in the air.

“Where is Ser Gerold?” Jaime asks, trying to break the awkward atmosphere.

“Patrolling.” That’s all Ser Arthur seems willing to say on the matter.

Displeasure is etched on Elia’s face. “How is Lyanna?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” Arthur frowns, glaring at Elia, then Jaime. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but all reports from King’s Landing pointed to your demise.”

“Lies, all of them. We shall talk about this later.” She glances at the Maester mistrustfully. 

Arthur is no dullard. Indeed, his gaze flickers between Elia and Jaime twice. Clearly, he’s on his way to figuring out enough of what had happened in King’s landing. Thankfully, he asks no more, and soon they stop in front of a door guarded only by a pair of servants.

“Rhaegar was a fool,” Elia mutters as they walk into Lyanna Stark’s room.

The girl herself lies on a soft bed, wrapped in a blanket of gauzy blue silk. It does nothing to conceal the swell of her belly, or the way she seems to breathe in pain. She glances at the newcomers and breaks into a wary smile.

Elia rushes to her side and gently sits at the edge of the bed, taking the girl’s hand in hers. “Lady Lyanna! What ails you?” She turns to the Maester. “Tell me if something’s wrong with her.”

“The babe grows,” Lyanna says with a bitter laugh. Beside her, the maester pulls away the sheets to have a look. “He saps my strength with every passing day.”

“He?”

“It’s a son. I can feel it.”

Rhaenys clambers up the bed and pats Lyanna’s hair. She glances at Elia and beams. “Will it be a baby brother, Mama?”

“We can only hope for it, sweetling.” Elia tightens her grip on the Stark girl’s hand. “Forgive me, my lady. I am at fault for your suffering. This need not have happened if-”

“It is my fault, too.” Lyanna laughs bitterly. She shifts ever so slightly as Maester Edwyle gently presses his fingers against her belly. “I was a fool, Princess. I listened to his song and his sweet words.”

“Many have fallen to Rhaegar’s charm,” Elia assures her. “He wouldn’t have pursued you had I not encouraged him.”

“And I should have known better than to listen to him.” Lyanna pauses and glances at Jaime, who remains standing at the edge of the room, by the door, with Arthur. “I thought you were all dead.”

“Yet we are not. There is still much to be thankful for,” Elia assures her.

Maester Edwyle looks up. “My ladies,” he begins tentatively.

“Speak.”

“I bring both good and dire tidings.”

Lyanna inclines her head, clearly resigned to her fate. “I won’t survive childbirth.”   
“There is a high possibility that you won’t,” the Maester admits. “You are, simply put, too young to have a child.”

“My mother bore her first at the same age.”

“Not all women are the same, my lady. Your body is not yet prepared to bear children, much less twins.”

_ Twins.  _ Jaime can feel the hush that settles in the rooms. “Can you not do anything about this?”

Lyanna laughs again, ignoring Elia’s huff of disapproval. It is a tired and bitter sound. “I have accepted my fate, Ser Jaime.”

“I will do what I can to ease the lady’s pain and keep up her strength, but beyond that…” Maester Edwyle echoes her laughter. “We of the Citadel are no holy men, but this I must say: the lady’s life is in the gods’ hands.”

***

Jaime leaves with the Maester not long after, accompanied by Ser Arthur Dayne, who shows the men to their meager quarters himself.

“I have judged you too harshly, too soon,” Arthur says grimly once it is only the two of them in the Kingsguard’s cramped quarters. “But this does not erase the fact that you have abandoned your oaths to your  _ king _ .”

“I saved his gooddaughter and grandchildren.” Jaime would have to hide the identity of Aegon’s true father for now. It’s not his story to tell. “The Targaryen line survives. Lady Lyanna’s children need not fight their future battles alone. Is it truly wrong for me to choose what I thought was right at that moment?”

Arthur purses his lips, clearly torn between relief that Elia and the children are safe, and irritation that Jaime abandoned their king to his fate. “It was not wrong, but I don’t think it was right, either.  Your oaths, Jaime-”

“Oaths would have meant nothing once my father sacked King’s Landing.” Frustrated, Jaime runs his hand through his hair.

“Oaths are the foundation of our institution.” Arthur’s eyes flash and for a moment, Jaime feared he would attack. He doesn’t. “Freshen up. I expect you to begin your patrol ‘round the perimeter within the hour.”

* * *

The other Kingsguard have warmed up to Jaime again after a long and privte talk with Elia and Lyanna. While they could never fully forget his abandonment of the king, they all understood that the survival of the next generation of Targaryens is of the utmost importance. If Aerys lived while the children did not, then all would be for naught.

"You faced a difficult choice and chose your own road," Ser Gerold told him over breakfast on their first morning. "I cannot say I completely approve of it, but what you did was nevertheless an honorable act."

"I would rather save people who can give us hope than that... madman."

"He may be mad, but he is still your king."

"Not anymore." Jaime smirks. "He is dead. And until Lyanna's child proves to be a son, our king is Viserys all the way in Dragonstone."

"Viserys?" Ser Gerold sighs. "We must hope then, for our sake, that Lady Lyanna is right, and that she will bear a son."

"And I hope, for our sake, that he is not as mad as those who came before him."

"The child - children, rather - will be half-Stark. Surely that will count for something."

"Maybe." A long, tired groan escapes Jaime's lips. "Maybe."

* * *

 

It's Jaime's third morning in the tower. Today, he patrols with Ser Oswell.

"This tower is too big for just four knights and a handful of servants looking after the last of Rhaegar's line, don't you think?" Jaime notes as they make their rounds. "And no Maester."

Ser Oswell purses his lips and glances at behind them, as if he's afraid of being overheard. "Rhaegar believed it is secluded enough to protect itself from most danger. He did not want to rouse suspicion by positioning too many guards and servants in Dorne - not when all he wanted was enough peace to spend time with his new lady. And as for the Maester, we had requested one from the Citadel. Maester Marwyck, the prince's old friend, but they had yet to respond."

"You cared for his broodmare more than he did, didn't you?" Jaime ignores the pointed look. "That's all Lyanna was to him, don't deny it. Besides, he'd have caught attention already just by sending the best of the Kingsguard here."

That was met with a reluctant nod and a grunt of agreement from Ser Oswell. "I know, lad. But this is Rhaegar. For all his virtues, he is sometimes difficult to reason with." He was clearly trying not to call the dead prince mad.

They round the corner, returning to the front of the tower that faced the Prince's Pass. A moving smudge can be seen on the horizon.

"We're not expecting anyone," Ser Oswell says through gritted teeth.

"Lord Stark," Jaime groans. He adjusts his cloak and nods to his companion. "Shall I summon Lady Elia?"

Ser Oswell's stance changes. Despite the princess' wishes, he is clearly itching for a fight. "Yes, while there's still time. They'll be here in an hour at the most."

Jaime sprints into the tower, up the long, spiraling stairs and to the princess' quarters, hoping she is still there. She is, thankfully, sitting at the edge of her bed, nursing Aegon as she tells a story to Rhaenys.

"...and so, with one loud roar, Balerion the Black Dread breathed fire upon the swords as smiths toiled and hammered, creating the Iron Throne."

She looks up as the door closes behind the knight. "Is something the matter?" she asks. "Is it Lya?"

"No." Jaime is privy to the look of relief that flashes on the princess' face. The she-wolf has little life left, and yet she steadfastly holds on for her children. "We spotted riders approaching. I fear Lord Stark and his retinue will be here within the hour."

In what seems to be no time at all, a mismatched group of people assemble themselves at the edge of the Prince's Pass - Elia and her children, the four brothers of the Kingsguard, and a handful of servants who were not busy helping Maester Edwyle in tending to Lyanna Stark. They wait with bated breath as the Stark retinue rides closer and closer to them, their direwolf banner the first thing to come into clear view.

It's nearly noon when they finally arrive.

Eddard Stark is at the head of his party, as a lord should, dressed in leather armor over brown linen clothing, damp brown hair held back with a simple black cord. Though young, his long and serious face makes him look older than he really is.

"Where is my sister?" he demands.

"Your sister awaits you, Lord Stark," Elia declares, stepping forward, her grim look matching the lord's. "We had hoped that you would arrive before..."

"Before?"

Aegon wails loudly, disrupting the conversation. His mother had barely began to shush him before a loud scream can be heard upstairs.

A pained grimace darkens Elia's face as she bounces the crying child in her arms. "She is with child, and very weak. The Maester said she will not survive the birthing."

Never before had Jaime ever seen rage that can match the fire that burns in Lord Stark's eyes. "What did he do to her?"

"Many things. He was not Aerys, Rhaegar was mad, nevertheless." Elia's voice quivers, but she quickly reinforces her words with steel. Lyanna's screams are louder now, more desperate. "Come, Lord Stark. I fear there isn't much time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you adviced me to do, I've turned on comment moderations. I'm done defending myself from people who are intent on riling me up and cannot be reasoned with. God knows I've tried to be as pleasant as possible.
> 
> I've posted this in the comments already, but I wanted to slap it on here: Ne kind to content creators. They're not obligated to share their works, nor please everyone in the fandom. Are their fics not your cup of tea? Spare your time and energy. Stop reading, leave advice or point out errors in a way that creators can spot and fix them, then go. Be kind. Be respectful. It's as easy as that.
> 
> Take your hate somewhere else. There's no room for that here. Or better yet, stop the hate. I want the comments section in my works to be a safe space for readers and content creators alike.
> 
> Anway, we have one last chapter before this fic ends. Part 2 is already in the works, with a new POV character. I'll have to go back and change a few details from one of Jaime's dreams to match details for the next chapter first, though


	6. Kingsguard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime swears an oath to a newborn king.

Lord Stark does not argue. Neither does he ask any more questions. He signals one of his men to accompany him as he follows Elia and her retinue to the tower.

Lyanna Stark’s already tiny room feels cramped with all the people surrounding the screaming girl. Maester Edwyle and two servants tend to her as she struggles to bring her children into the world. Behind them, Wylla hovers, ready to nurse the children once they are ready. Elia sits at the edge of the bed, her sobbing infant son in hand, brushing Lyanna’s dark hair from her sweaty face. Jaime stands beside her, keeping holding Rhaenys, who had buried her face in his shoulder and whimpered at the sight of blood.

There are not enough servants to look after the little princess, and a Kingsguard knows when to adapt to the situation.

On Lyanna’s other side stands Eddard Stark, whispering words of assurance and forgiveness to his sister. His companion, Howland Reed, stands beside him, watching everything with a curious glint in his deep green eyes. Ser Gerold Hightower is positioned by the door. On the other side would be Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent, their eyes trained on the rest of the Northmen.

A newborn child’s cries fill the air as the first of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s twins emerges.

“Lyanna, be strong,” Lord Stark whispers fervently as Elia squeezes the girl’s hand.

“It’s a son, my lady,” Maester Edwyle proclaims.

Jaime nudges Rhaenys. “Did you hear that? You have another baby brother.”

“No, no, no!” The girl whimpers and shakes her head, clearly agitated by the noise and maybe, just maybe, the smell of blood.

The newborn babe's cries intersperse with Aegon's as Lyanna begins to scream again. Her second child seems intent on coming out of the world soon.

It reminds Jaime of his own birth. He remembers his mother saying that Cersei came out first. Jaime followed, tightly holding on to her heel. It made Cersei fervently believe that they shared the same soul, that they would leave this world together as they entered it. A fanciful thought, Jamie knew, but he used to humor his sister whenever she talked about it.

"Be strong, Lya, please," Lord Stark pleads, his grim countenance broken by desperation and grief.

Jaime wonders if this is what it was like when Mother died. He remembers that Father was never the same when she was gone. How could she have survived birthing twins and not a dwarf who was far smaller than the newborn prince crying along with his infant uncle?

A dark chuckle almost escapes the knight's lips. Fending off the urge, the Lannister part of him chides himself for the impropriety he would have committed. He's been too contemplative since they left King's Landing.

The second babe is born as Lyanna’s screams die down into pained gasps.

"The bleeding, it's too much," Maester Edwyle wails as he places a steaming piece of cloth on the girl's forehead. "Her body could not handle it."

"Ned, Elia, please," Lyanna whispers frantically. “You must promise me.”

“Anything,” Elia declares boldly.

“As do I,” Lord Stark says, steely determination in his stormy gray eyes. "What is it, Lya?"

"Protect them. Please. Promise me."

"I promise."

"I promise, too," Elia whispers.

A peaceful smile settles on Lyanna's face. It is clear that her time in this world will not be for long. "I'm sorry, Ned."

“I know not the extent of your mistakes, but know that you are forgiven.” Lord Stark kisses his sister’s brow.

Lyanna sighs, happy and content. She holds her weakened arms out. "May I kiss them, so they may know my love before I join our ancestors?"

The two maids lower the children to her, keeping a firm hold on them. Jaime notes the tuft of thick dark curls on the babe's heads. The blood of the wolf runs strong in them.

"They're beautiful and strong, Lya. What shall we name them?" Elia asks, gently stroking the girl's hair.

"Good Northern names would suit them but..." Lyanna smiles and looks at her brother apologetically before turning back to her children to kiss their brows. "I name you Jaehaerys and Jaehaera Targaryen, the songs of ice and fire."

Elia rises to her feet. “Long live King Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, Third of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, and his fair sister, Princess Jaehaera!”

Lyanna’s weak, glassy gaze shifts to Jaime. “Will you serve my children as you serve Elia’s?”

“I will.” Jaime kneels before the babes. “My sword belongs to King Jaehaerys and House Targaryen.”

“Thank you, Ser Jaime.” Lyanna settles on her bed as her eyes slowly droop to a close.

“No. No, Lyanna, stay with us, please!” The legendarily stoic Lord Stark takes his sister’s hand and weeps freely. The blood of the wolf, it seems, still runs in his veins.

Princess Lyanna Stark, second wife to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, passes into the void not long after her children’s birth.

* * *

Jaime wakes at dawn, as he always does, despite his lack of sleep.

The Tower of Joy is still in a flurry of activity. Though he and the rest of the remaining Kingsguard spent the entire night scouring Lyanna’s room of anything important that they will need to take with them, there are still supplies they must prepare for the upcoming journey. It’s going to be difficult with two newborn babes, not to mention Elia’s children, but they’ll manage.

Speaking of Elia, she had been deep in discussion with Lord Stark since last night. They’ve barely moved outside the small room where Lyanna’s body is being prepared for the trip to Starfall, then to the North. None of the Kingsguard have been summoned to join the conversation, and no one has dared to interrupt them yet.

“It is a fine day,” Ser Arthur says in greeting when Jaime joins him in the kitchen. “Inappropriate, do you not think?”

A pair of serving maids serve them bowls of stew and goblets of water.

“People mourn yet the seasons go on, as they always do,” Jaime points out with a tired sigh.  _ The gods, if they even exist, are often cruel _ .

“It is going to be a sad journey to Starfall. Ashara will be devastated.”

“That, she will.”

They lapse into companionable silence as they finish their meal.

Ser Oswell finds them not long after. His eyes bear signs of exhaustion. “Princess Elia requests our presence.”

Ser Arthur pats Jaime’s shoulders as he stands. “But of course. Do you think they shall disclose their plans to us?”

“They must be.” Jaime follows his companions through the empty corridors. “We must protect the king, wherever they decide to take him.”

They join Elia and Lord Stark await them in an old, unused study, talking quietly with a green-eyed crannogman - one of the companions Lord Stark had brought with him. Ser Gerold is also there, sitting by the door which Jaime shuts behind him.

“It is time,” Elia proclaims.

Jaime sits beside Ser Arthur, observing the princess curiously. She bears signs of exhaustion - she clearly had not slept at all last night, and probably spent most of it away from the company of her beloved children. Nevertheless, she graces the knights with a smile.

“Shall we begin?” Lord Stark asks.

Elia nods. She turns to the remnants of the Kingsguard with a grim look on her face. “Tomorrow, we leave for Starfall, and from there, we must part ways.”

“Part ways?” Ser Arthur scowls. “It will be dangerous, my lady.”

“I understand the danger, Ser Arthur.” Elia smiles grimly. “But keeping the children together will present a greater danger. Ned and I have discussed it in detail.”

Lord Stark’s face is as grim as ever, though his eyes are still red from tears. “I shall be taking Jaehaerys and Jaehaera - whom we shall be calling Jon and Jeyne - to the North. They may be Targaryens, but they are also children of the North. They must learn our ways. They shall be raised alongside my own children.”

“Pardon me for interrupting,” Ser Gerold says. “But will this not pose too many questions?”

“It is why I have decided to take them in as my bastards. It will sully my name, and that of Catelyn, but it must be done. I shall discuss the matter in full with my lady wife, as Princess Elia counseled me. My House shall stand united with House Targaryen, and so shall the North, in time.”

_ Bastards _ . Only a fool would believe that the honorable Eddard Stark would father bastards, but even Jaime could see how this plan  _ can _ work. The children, after all, have enough Stark in them.

“And I,” Elia says, shooting a glance at the crannogman, “shall help Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys in Dragonstone. There is word that Stannis Baratheon is building a fleet to take Dragonstone, and we must bring House Targaryen to safety.”

“A daunting task,” Jaime blurts out before he can say anything. “But what of your children? They could get caught up in a siege if we are too late.”

The crannogman gives him a placid smile. “Lord Stannis is still recovering from the siege of Storm’s End. It will two or three turns of the moon before his fleet is ready to attack Dragonstone. That should give plenty of time to sail there and evacuate the queen and the prince.”

“How do you know this?”

“My sight is green.”

A small, wry smile touches Lord Stark’s lips. “Lord Howland Reed rarely speaks, but when he does, he is almost always right.”

“I shall take the rest of the Kingsguard with me,” Lady Elia goes on. “We will discuss further action once I am safely reunited with Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys.”

A frown deepens the lines on Ser Gerold’s face. “Will it be wise to separate us? We have sworn an oath to serve our king, and we must fulfill it.”

“He is right.” Ser Arthur matches his scowl. “How can we protect our king if we are not with him?”

Lord Stark sighs. “It will raise suspicions if we bring all four of you to the North.”

Elia takes the White Bull’s hand in hers imploringly. “Ser Gerold, you must decide who shall accompany the king.”

Silence befalls them as Ser Gerold eyes the younger knights. “I wish to follow my king to the North, but I fear the cold will claim my old bones before he takes the throne. Tell me: what did Lord Tywin say about his son’s absence in King’s Landing?”

“Few and far in between,” Lord Howland says. “He only speaks of the Targaryens taking his son away from him. Many have assumed he has died, or was taken hostage.”

“It goes against my better judgement, but I wish to send him with the king. He has shown admirable courage and honor in saving Princess Elia and her children, and I believe he will extend the same courtesy to the king and the princess. Besides, I believe the North will have ways of concealing him from his father.”

“And yet his very existence in the North can start a premature war with House Lannister,” Ser Oswell argues.

“Everything we do will lead to a war, anyway.” Jaime turns to Elia. “And I made a promise to Lady Lyanna - Princess Lyanna - on her deathbed. I shall honor it.”

Ser Gerold lets out a booming laugh. “Brave words, boy. See to it that you can match it with your deeds.”

“I raised you to knighthood,” Ser Arthur reminds him. “Do not sully both of our names.”

Jaime steels himself and nods. It’s a long journey to the North, and his new responsibilities weigh heavily upon his shoulders. He had chosen his path when he saved Elia and her children, and he swears to see it through to the bitter end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that took a long time. Real life got in the way of updates, but I hope to get into a regular schedule soon. This is the end of this fic, but I'm alreaady writing a short Ned-centric sequel which should be up and running later this week.


End file.
